Chapter 11
Among Friends
Jeremy closed his eyes, exhaled, and entered the Haze. He felt a heaviness in the air, foreign to this ethereal realm. The pink clouds were muddy, tinged at the edges and streaked with grease. Fear had always been part of the Haze, as the souls both longed for and dreaded the sorting, leaving hues of purple. But now there were heavier vibrations: anger, cruelty, greed, and lust.
The black wisps seeped into him, spawning memories that brought him shame. You liked hurting them, savored it, they whispered. It was like sex, like rape. So poignant, so delicious. You tore them: sharp phallus, net of Mammon, spiral of Pan, incubus. He wept for a time, but could not rid himself of the images. He lifted his shirt, so meaningless in the Haze where all was laid bare, and scratched at his chest, raking streaks of blood. Purge yourself, you filth, you leach. Then he was scourging Maren with a cat of nine tails, licking her cuts with a barbed tongue. She hated him, was praying for his damnation. Then, there was a beacon in the darkness.
A circle glowed in the distance, and Lyrna emerged from the fog, illuminated. As she charged towards him in a wave of light, the black threads dispelled, and the visions died. She grew closer, closer, and leapt into his arms. They embraced, and the air was at peace for now.
"Lyrna, I had a vision, an omen of things to come!" Jeremy cursed. "The demons are on Watico now. There were sitings in Fengra!"
Lyrna meowed sadly.
"I don't know what to do. Take me to Maren."
She guided him to Earth and together, they managed to find the drop-off point to Maren's adoptive parents' apartment. Jeremy hugged Lyrna. "I'll be in touch soon."
It was an early summer morning in New York City, and flustered commuters pushed and sighed past Jeremy, their hands cradling espressos and newspapers. The air was misty and gray, and a cool breeze blew against Jeremy's skin. As Jeremy made his way to Maren's apartment door, nervous energy shot through his body in waves. What did the demons want with him? Would they hurt his father, mother or Maren? Maren opened the door and stepped right into him.
"Oh!" said Maren. "Jeremy!"
Jeremy was about to open his mouth when a young woman rushed past Maren wearing a leopard print body suit.
"Who's your friend?" asked the flamboyant stranger, looking Jeremy up and down and teasing her brown hair out.
"Jeremy, this is Tina. Tina, Jeremy."
"Oh, and is he...?" Tina turned to Maren and whispered in her ear, giggling.
"No, nothing like that," said Maren. She tucked her hair behind her ears and her mouth tensed.
"Party at my place tonight in the Hamptons."
"Tina, don't!" Maren crossed her arms. "Just a couple of people."
Tina smacked her gum loudly in Maren's face and then turned to Jeremy. "We're celebrating her return! A small gathering, I hear you. Maren, you're going to have the best party!" Tina smiled and flung herself on Maren. "Bring your new friend." Tina blew them both kisses and ran away.
Jeremy ran his hand over his eyes. "Am I seeing this correctly? A friend of yours?"
Maren laughed and pressed her back against the apartment door. "Part of my group of friends. She's closer to my friend Fiona. They were childhood best friends. I just put up with her."
Jeremy closed his eyes and replayed Maren's laugh in his head. He couldn't ruin her party. He couldn't remind her that she'd made a mistake to ever get involved with him. He'd keep quiet on the demon news for now. "I talked to your dad."
"Oh yeah?" Maren looked up at Jeremy with wide eyes.
"I told him I'd bring you back safely and that you're okay." Jeremy smiled. "And he demands Earth chicken."
Maren's jaw dropped. "He knows?"
"Or suspects. I neither denied nor confirmed our whereabouts."
Maren changed into a short purple dress and put more makeup on than Jeremy had ever seen her wear in her life: dramatic black eyeliner, dark, thick mascara, silver eyeshadow, a light dusting of mineral powder, and finally some pink blush on her cheeks. One thing she didn't compromise on was her flat shoes, and she chose silver gladiator sandals which wrapped around her legs. Jeremy was all smiles.
"You never dress like this for the Watican balls."
"This is different; this is a party." Maren put on a pair of peacock feather earrings and slid a bracelet onto her wrist.
Jeremy and Maren met up with Maren's friend Fiona, who everyone called "Frisky." Before meeting Frisky, Jeremy had amused himself imagining someone more sexually suggestive than Maren's leopard-print-wearing friend Tina. Maren assured him the nickname Frisky was a joke, because Frisky was in fact incredibly pious and prudent.
This made Jeremy laugh too. He immediately thought of Maren, but her current wardrobe quickly chased that thought away.
"Hi, I'm Frisky." Frisky ducked into the limo and held her hand out to Jeremy. She had mousy brown hair, small black rimmed glasses, and a wide mouth, and wore a flower print dress over top of black leggings. Without putting too much thought into it, Jeremy kissed her hand. Frisky quickly withdrew her hand and turned a bright shade of crimson. She jumped into the limo and sat beside Maren, not daring to look up at Jeremy for the remainder of the ride.
Jeremy sat quietly and listened to Maren and Frisky talk about Maren's supposed memory recovery and her quest to search for her biological parents. Frisky was saddened to hear that Maren couldn't find them, and quickly changed the subject to gossip about a guy named Mitch. He would be at Tina's party.
Mitch. Jeremy didn't like the incredibly mediocre sound of this guy, or maybe it was Maren's flustered demeanor that bothered him.
"Mitch will be there?" asked Maren.
"Yes, Tina made sure to invite him and his cousin, Frank. Mitch got into the NYU summer writing program, did she tell you? His classes started two weeks ago. I think he's going to share a poem with us tonight." Frisky clapped her hands together. It was the giddy sort of excitement that only a friend who lives vicariously through another can bring.
"I can't wait to hear it," said Maren. She gave a side-glance to Jeremy.
"I didn't know you were friends with a brilliant poet." Jeremy sat upright and feigned an interest in his nails. "I look forward to meeting him."
The limo pulled into the driveway. Jeremy could see a bonfire on the beach behind the property. The house was large and had blue siding and wide windows with white shutters. It looked like a charming beach home, expensive and with a well-manicured lawn. Jeremy's eyes scanned the side of the house and fell upon what appeared to be a runway. His eyes traveled the length of the runway; at the end was a large, black garage with white letters that read: Fantasia Jet. But he was soon distracted by an even more eye-catching display.
Tina bounded out the front doors wearing what might pass as lingerie―a red bra and matching red mini skirt under a see-through leopard print shirt. "Lollipops!" she screamed, tossing cherry flavored lollipops at her guests. Jeremy, Maren, and Frisky each caught one. Jeremy looked down at the lollipop label. It read: "Cherry Popper." The party followed Tina inside.
The interior of the house looked respectable enough. Jeremy slid his hand over the top of a black leather couch, envisioning his outfit against the leather―a silk pink button down dress shirt and skinny jeans―and eased on down. It felt cool and refreshing. Maren and Frisky froze after he'd staked out the couch, unsure about whether to move to the next room. They chose to sit down beside him. Others, too, now wandered into the room. Jeremy assumed they were assembling around Maren, but saw two women point to him and giggle. He flashed them a grin.
"So this is where the party is," said Tina. She sat on the floor by Jeremy's feet. "How'd you two meet?" She looked up at Jeremy and tossed her hair back.
"We've known each other since we were kids. Our parents were friends." Jeremy looked over at Maren who nodded.
"Your parents were friends with her parents? Well that's it, then. Can't you tell her who her parents are?" Tina crinkled her nose.
"Oh,
well," Jeremy rubbed his chin to buy time. "We think they might have been in the witness protection program. No trace of them, no record." He found Maren's eyes and she seemed relieved by his recovery. "But we probably shouldn't talk about this" Jeremy feigned empathy and gestured towards Maren.
"You and Maren must be pretty close then?" blurted Tina. She gripped Jeremy's leg. "I mean, you're practically like brother and sister, you've known each other so long."
Jeremy straightened. "Not at all―I mean, we're close, I think, but not like brother and sister."
"Hmm..." Tina scanned the next room over. "Hey Maren, I think Mitch is in the other room if you wanna go talk to him."
"Is he?' Maren stood up and pulled her dress down. She paused briefly before walking away, Frisky at her heels.
"Can I join you?" Tina asked Jeremy, slinking onto the couch. "Meoowww! I love leopards, can you tell?"
Jeremy laughed. "No, you're like an enigma, so hard to read."
"It's so good to see Maren and Mitch reunited. She was crazy over him. He was into her too, of course, but you know Maren. She can be so prude."
"Really?" Jeremy turned around on the couch and narrowed his eyes. "But they weren't together?"
"It was going to happen soon, right before she disappeared. He was going to ask her out." Tina began to rub Jeremy's back. "They're perfect for each other."
Jeremy pushed Tina's hands off his back and ran his fingers through his hair. "What's this guy like?"
Tina frowned. "Mitch? He's clever, athletic, and a writer. Triangular torso, square jaw. Attractive... but he pales in comparison to you. Hey, are you a model?" Tina smiled at Jeremy and tapped her acrylic fingernails on the top of the leather couch seductively.
Jeremy cursed and stood up, causing Tina to jump. "I want to meet this Renaissance man." He walked out of the room.
The next room over was large and rectangular and had a little stage set up in the corner. A few guys were tinkering with sound equipment and guitars. Suddenly the speakers turned on and there was a loud hiss. Everyone in the room complained loudly, and some guy shouted, "Okay, relax! We'll turn it down." The speaker gave a slight hum and order was restored.
Jeremy scanned the room. A small crowd had gathered just to the left of the stage. Maren was giving some preppy jackass a hug: Mitch. Jeremy felt a surge of rage race through his body. He closed his eyes hoping to blink the image away.
A guy was on the stage now, cradling his guitar. This ought to be good, thought Jeremy as he slipped between two women to get closer. One of the women gave a little wave and touched his shoulder as he passed, but Jeremy ignored this. He wanted to humiliate Mitch, the guy who, against all odds, had captured Maren's fancy.
Now some tortured singer-songwriter with a gravelly voice was singing about his soul to power chords. Jeremy shuddered. He could see Maren tilt her head back: she was laughing. Mitch was laughing too. He'd delivered some hilarious line and had Maren in stitches. It was the first time Jeremy really caught a glimpse of his face: all chin, thought Jeremy, taking in the prominent protrusion. Mitch was tall, like Jeremy, but that was where the similarities ended. He was wider, and where Jeremy had a lean, muscular physique, Mitch was more of a fridge. He's fat, thought Jeremy. It couldn't be all muscle. Fat. Jeremy found himself looking at Mitch's shoes. Sneakers? He gasped. Ugly, white, bulbous sneakers? Jeremy looked down at his own hand-crafted, brown leather shoes with squared tips. Much better. Jeremy ran his fingers through his perfectly tousled hair, grimacing as he eyed the stubble that passed for hair on Mitch's head. A buzz cut, really? He's awfully generic looking. But then he's a writer. Jeremy considered that Mitch might be playing up the "I'm so masculine but actually have a deep burning passion for words" angle. But combined with the shoes? This guy was about as edgy as his Reeboks.
Suddenly the tortured singer-songwriter was leaving the stage, and Mitch was stepping up behind the mic. He leaned over and said something inaudible to Maren, who smiled sweetly and then held her hand up over her mouth. She'd remain in the same position for the duration of Mitch's pathetic pathos. Mitch leaned into the mic, a shaky hand lifting a sheet of paper to his face.
My place of recovery, turning afternoon blips
into heart attacks,
The kind that make you drunk for love.
You reach for a tissue and find it―
a friend and so much more,
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
She lived to see the spider-wasps hatch;
She's lost like silk in the wind.
Mitch brought the piece of paper down from his face and smiled at Maren. Everyone clapped appreciatively as Maren jumped onto the stage and wrapped her arms around him. "That was lovely," she said.
"I never actually finished it―it was too painful for me to write. But now that you're back again―"
Jeremy had stepped onto the stage now and he waved at the crowd. He spun on the spot, bumping into Mitch's shoulder. Everyone quieted as Mitch shuffled off the stage. Maren shot Jeremy a look of disapproval as she stepped down with Mitch.
"Hi," Jeremy called out to the crowd. "That was nice―a little poem. Short and sweet." He paused and looked out at the crowd, then to Mitch. "You'll have to work on your presence, of course. My name is Jeremy Chikalto. I'd love to sing you a little song you might recognize. As for inspiration―that remains an open question." Jeremy looked off-stage for a guitar and managed to gracefully lift one up from a confused young man's hands. He strummed it, and gently adjusted the strings to perfect pitch. He took a seat center stage. He hummed into the microphone―the voice of an angel―and a hush swept over the audience. Jeremy began finger-picking an intricate rhythm, the dynamics ebbing and flowing with feeling, the chord progression haunting. Jeremy's voice was a rounded bell ringing over the sacred architecture of his picking:
I saw a windstorm coming from the north,
a cloud with lightning, surrounded by light.
The center was glowing metal,
and in the fire were four creatures,
each with four wings and four hands.
Each had the face of a man, the face of a lion,
the face of an ox, and the face of an eagle.
Wherever the spirit would go, they would go,
without turning as they went.
Wheels lay on the ground next to them.
The wheels sparkled like topaz, and all looked alike.
Each was a wheel intersecting a wheel.
As they moved, they would go where the creatures were faced;
the wheels did not change direction and
their rims were high and full of eyes all around.
Jeremy strummed his last chord on the guitar and set it on his lap. He looked up at the blank faces blinking back at him. The women, moved by his voice, their eyes glazed with tears, chilled Jeremy with a sense of otherworldliness. That feeling in the pit of his stomach again, like he was a predator, surfaced and made him sick. He looked for Maren in the crowd and spotted her sulking in the corner, arms crossed. Jeremy shoved the guitar back in the young man's arms and made his way to her, ignoring the clawing of his new admirers and pushing them aside with disdain. He had one target tonight and one alone. Unfortunately, his aim was off.
"Hi Maren," Jeremy did a quick scan for Mitch and saw that she was alone. "Did you like my song?"
"How could you?" Maren frowned and pulled back.
Jeremy narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "How could I what? Sing? By the looks of it, I quite enhanced the party."
"You had to make this evening about you. This party was for me, Mitch wrote that poem for me! He spilled his heart out to me, about how he thought I'd died, and you critique him on his presence?!" She slapped pathetically at his chest. "And then to add insult to injury, you sing with your beautiful voice, and suddenly you're all anyone can talk about! You're so insensitive, Jeremy. Tonight was a big deal for Mitch. He's not a performer; he's not like you!" Maren thre
w her hands up over her face and walked into the next room.
Jeremy stood there in a daze, a sea of people swarming him, telling him he should be famous, asking him if he'd like to dance, and finally insisting he take a drink. Jeremy's eyes flashed an electric blue and the room lit up momentarily. Everyone cowered for a second and then recovered, thinking the lights were on the fritz. They cheered. "I do need a drink," said Jeremy at last, taking Tina's hand and squeezing through the crowd.
Tina poured Jeremy a shot of Jose Cuervo. The strong, cold liquid went down easy and Jeremy slammed the shot glass on the bar table. People sitting around the bar began to stare at Jeremy as word got out about his singing. Jeremy spun himself around on the revolving bar stool and shook his head. "People can focus on the tiniest detail," he said.
Tina steadied his seat and attempted a compassionate nod. "Absolutely."
"Miscommunication happens when intentions aren't clear."
"Sure," she nodded and grabbed his hand which was playing with his shot glass. "Need more?"
"Yes."
"Your voice," continued Tina as she slid a new drink his way, "is the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. Have you ever recorded anything?"
Jeremy gave this some thought. Of course he'd recorded before. And everyone in an entire galaxy already knew who he was, so it wasn't like fame was his goal. "No, can't say I have."
Tina leaned forward and Jeremy caught a glimpse of her cleavage, pushed up in a red lace bra. Tina caught his eyes and lifted his chin with her colorful nails. "I think you need more."
"I do. You do one with me this time." When his glass was filled, Jeremy held it up. "A toast: To transparency and ravenous appetites." He clanked his glass with Tina's, and she smiled.
"Weird, but sure!"
An hour later and Jeremy was lost. He stumbled upstairs and Tina grabbed cupcakes for the two of them. "Tina, why don't you show me your family's jet?" Jeremy stuffed a cupcake in his mouth.
A mischievous smile spread across Tina's face. "Of course, let me just get something real quick." Tina took off in a mad dash and reappeared with a bottle of absinthe. "It's the real stuff." She winked before taking Jeremy's hand and leading him outside.
Tina's dark brown hair whipped about in Jeremy's face, and between that and the wind, he hardly saw the garage in front of him. Tina jingled a set of keys and opened the garage, revealing a white private jet. "Ever seen one of these before? We call her Fantasia."
"Maybe," he said, caressing its side. "Get us in here."
"Yes, sir!" said Tina, and she moved a set of stairs to the hatch door. "You're going to love this." Tina opened the door and beckoned him with her finger. "Come."
Jeremy entered the jet and looked around. There were two small dining room tables on either side, each with tan love seats. A basket with fake red, pink, and yellow flowers sat on each table. Beneath his feet was a simple salmon colored rug. "Too bad, I was hoping for leopard print." Jeremy spun around to face Tina as she slinked over to him.
"I'm going to have to ask you to return to your seat, sir. Can I get you any refreshments?"
"I know something about aviation," said Jeremy coolly. "Do you fly?"
"I have a couple of times," said Tina. She put her hands on her hips. "My dad owns Belting Aviation."
"Impressive. Show me how to fly this thing."